


To this Great Stage of Fools

by gypsydancergirl (hauntedlittledoll)



Series: Double Double Toil and Trouble [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen, Shakespeare is My Second Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:14:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedlittledoll/pseuds/gypsydancergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael (Headmaster) comforts a young Castiel Singer on the boy's eighth birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To this Great Stage of Fools

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Shakespeare's "King Lear."

Castiel Singer was an eight year old wizard today.

At least, Castiel thought he was an eight year old wizard.  It’s hard to say for sure, because Castiel hasn’t demonstrated a single instance of Accidental Magic in his entire eight years.

Professor Harvelle’s little girl is only four, and today she conjured a birthday candle for her share of the thick cake that Castiel’s mother made for the occasion.  Joanna Beth had cried when Castiel blew out all his candles, and at first, Castiel thought that one of the adults had made the candle to cheer the toddler up.

Then the adults got really excited, and Professor Harvelle kissed the top of her daughter’s head with obvious pride.

Castiel hasn’t so much as changed the colour of a toy, let alone conjured a lit candle.

Once tea time was over, Castiel found himself an empty corridor without paintings to practice.  He pulled a slightly wilted flower out of his robe pocket, and concentrated on turning the white flower to a yellow colour like his mother’s favorite set of robes.

It didn’t work.  An hour later, Castiel still held a limp white flower as it began to rain outside.  The waterworks were not completely limited to the outdoors however, as a few drops struck the knee of Castiel’s jeans and offended the formerly-sympathetic mouse that he had attracted.  It abandons Castiel and heads for drier ground as Castiel angrily swipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his robe.

He’s eight years old.  He’s too big to be crying.  Even if he does turn out to be a Squib, he shouldn’t be crying about it like a baby.  Joanna Beth is the baby after all.  Not Castiel.

“Castiel?”

Castiel rockets to his feet even as he ducks his head in shame.  He’s definitely too big to be caught crying by Headmaster Michael.  Even Castiel knows that Headmaster Michael is a hero and maybe even the greatest wizard in the world.  He doesn’t step outside his office all that often anymore.  Not since Lucifer had disappeared.

To be caught crying on such a rare occasion was just Castiel’s luck.

“Castiel?”

Castiel is a little surprised that the Headmaster knows his name.  He’s just Professor Singer’s little boy, and the Headmaster is in charge of the whole school.  He can’t help but look up at the dark-haired man.  The Headmaster doesn’t look any older than Castiel’s father, but he’s ever so much older.  Power lengthens a wizard’s life and Headmaster Michael is very powerful.

He also seems very gentle, but Castiel was raised in a magical castle.  Looks can be deceiving.  Still, the headmaster asked again: “Castiel, why are you crying?”

Castiel bites his lip.  He doesn’t want to admit the real reason, but Castiel’s parents have taught him to never lie.  He looks down at his feet again.

“Today is your birthday, is it not?” the Headmaster prodded softly.  “Did you not get a present that you wanted?”

Castiel blanched.  He’d gotten great presents.  Gobstones and chocolate frogs, cake and Wizarding comic books, and even tickets to see the Chudley Cannons play in a real quidditch game!  His parents were the best parents ever, and all of the professors were very kind—even Professor Crowley!

“No sir,” he gasped, and then reluctantly continued.  “I’m crying because . . . because I’m a squib,” he finished very softly.

“A squib,” Headmaster Michael repeated, and Castiel knew a moment of terror.  Would the Headmaster send him away to live with muggles now that he knew?  Castiel wanted to stay with his parents, but Hogwarts was for wizards and witches!

“Yes sir,” he whispered.

Headmaster Michael tilted his head to the side.  “Why would you think such a thing?”

Castiel stared.  “Because . . . because I can’t do accidental magic.  I can’t make my toys move or change colour.  I can’t get things that Mummy and Daddy put out of reach, and if I fall down, it hurts.”

Headmaster Michael nods along sagely.

“Daddy . . . Daddy says that everybody’s different, and the magic will come when I need it, but I need it lots, and it doesn’t ever come.”  Castiel was something his mother called accident-prone.  “And Joanna Beth made a candle today just because she wanted one,” he finishes in a big rush.  If Headmaster Michael knows who Castiel is, than surely he knows Joanna Beth who definitely has magic.  “She’s only four!”

“And you are eight,” Headmaster Michael murmured.  “I see the problem.”  The headmaster held out his hand.  “Come along, Castiel.”

This was it.  Castiel was getting thrown out for sure.  He hoped his parents would miss him after he left.

But Headmaster Michael didn’t lead him back to the Staff Quarters.  Headmaster Michael took him all the way up to the Headmaster’s Office, and waved away the gargoyle guardian.  Castiel noticed miserably that the rotating staircase was almost as neat as the moving staircases downstairs, but was in no mood to appreciate the ride.

Headmaster Michael led Castiel over to a tall podium, and flipped a few pages in a book on top of it.  Castiel waited quietly, but then the Headmaster picked up Castiel just like Daddy did when Castiel couldn’t reach something he needed.

“This is the _Book of Names_.  Every time a magical child is born in Great Britain, their name appears in this book so that a Hogwarts letter can be sent out when the time comes.  Even muggleborn children have their names written in this book.  This page contains the names of all the eight year old wizards and witches in Britain.”

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat.  “Is my name . . . ?”

“Try the seventh one down,” the Headmaster suggested with just a hint of a smile.

_Castiel Robert Singer_

It was written in a fancy script with the C bigger than all the other letters, but it’s Castiel’s name.  And it’s in the book.  Castiel does have magic after all.

Headmaster Michael sets Castiel down and crouches beside him.  “Your father is right.  You’ll see your magic soon enough.  You’re in the book, Castiel, and I believe that we can expect great things from you.”


End file.
